Oubliette
by Hoodoo
Summary: With Federal agents chasing them, the team needs some place to hide.  Luckily, Hannibal knows the neighborhood.  Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine. No money made.

Due to some encouragement, here's another A-Team fic. My Hannibal crush is still going strong . . .

Enjoy!

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><p>This wasn't going to end well.<p>

Here they were, rocketing down the road—thank god for B.A.'s superb driving skills—with Murdock close to a panic attack and Face asking insistently right in his ear,

"What's the plan, Boss? _What's the plan?"_

Shit if he knew.

The agents after them hadn't started shooting yet; luckily they were in a more or less residential area. Hannibal didn't know how long that particular bit of luck would hold out.

Murdock's panting little breaths became interspersed with high-pitched whines.

"You pull yourself tagether, fool!" B.A. barked at him. "Don't you puke in my van!"

"Concentrate on driving!" Face shouted back at the black man.

"Face—calm Murdock down. There's sedatives in the kit if you need them," ordered Hannibal, above the tension growing amongst the occupants of the van.

Murdock's wheezy panic took a different shrill pitch when he heard the word 'sedative'; now he began begging not to be sedated—"I'm fine, I'll be good, no sedatives, _please!"_—in between his pantings. Face muttered something insolent but moved back from between the two front seats to attend to their pilot.

"Bosco, you keep going."

"Where'm I going?"

Hannibal watched the car with the Feds in it through the side mirror. As B.A. swerved, taking corners too tightly, his view of them was lost.

"Colonel? Any options?" the black man persisted.

In the back of his mind, he did have an option. He tried to keep that horrible choice there, out of the forefront; he tried to come up with something—_anything—_else. But as if he could only concentrate on one plan at a time—which is _not_ the case, goddamn it! _He was John Hannibal Smith!_—nothing else came even close to presenting itself.

"Just keep heading west," he told the driver with a suddenly dry mouth.

With leaden fingers, he dug his phone out of his front pocket and dialed.

* * *

><p>Why here? Why did it have to be here?<p>

"What you say?"

Hannibal hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud till B.A. questioned him.

"Nothing," he replied, still hearing ringing on the other end of the line. Making sure he wasn't speaking this time, he hoped feverishly the phone would be answered, then hoped in the same thought that it wouldn't.

"Murdock's coming back to us," Face announced. "Right, buddy? Hanging in there?"

Murdock's reply was bright. "Just a slight lapse, chaps!"

"Fabulous," B.A. muttered.

Hannibal kept an eye on the mirror for another appearance of the Fed's car.

"They're still behind us!" Face told everyone. He had a wider view from the rear windows of the van.

"Shit—" Hannibal started, and then the ringing stopped as the phone was picked up. Without any preliminaries, his men heard him snap into the mouthpiece, "I need a favor. Open up the garage and wait for us. We'll be there in ten minutes."

And again, without typical good-byes or explanations, he hung up and began rooting through the glove compartment.

"Bosco, try to lose them on these streets. Make the next right, then two lefts, then another quick right. There'll be an open right garage door. Pull in and cut the engine."

B.A. glanced at him in disbelieving curiosity but didn't question the directions. Face stuck his head between the seats again.

"Who's waiting for us, Bossman? This is residential; there won't be any repair garages or chop shops around here!"

"Trust me, Face," he told all of them, but his grit his teeth as he said it.

* * *

><p>B.A., with more impressive driving, was able to lose the agents for precious seconds. He took the turns Hannibal told him too, even while the former Colonel was distracted digging through a bundle of papers in his lap, and like Hannibal promised, the right side of a detached double garage was open.<p>

"Here?" Face choked. "How is this going to help us? This is a garage next to a bungalow!"

"Both classic cape and craftsman bungalows have two bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs," Murdock told no one in particular.

With the exception of B.A. growling, "He's doing that 'information overload' commercial again," Murdock was ignored.

"Listen to me," Hannibal ordered. When he used that voice, his men were immediately attentive. "Bosco, get out of the cab as soon as it stops. Leave your door open. Murdock, grab our gear—Bosco'll help—and get in the house. Face, change the plates. Be fast. Got it?"

The "yes sirs" he received were reminiscent of the military.

B.A. barely slowed his van as he turned into the driveway. They were in the garage and the door was pulled shut behind them almost before he was out and assisting Murdock with their duffels. He knew Hannibal's orders and so was making his way to the door near the house before he noticed a woman getting into his vacated driver's seat.

"Hey!" he cried.

"Move it, Bosco!" Murdock said, shoving at the big black man.

"But my van—"

"Hannibal's got it. Can't you tell he's got a plan?"

Not quite happy with the situation, he nonetheless allowed Murdock to hurry him to the door.

Face worked efficiently at the license plates, but he overheard Hannibal telling the woman,

"I'm so sorry! I never wanted to have to do this—"

"Get in the house, John!"

"—there are federal agents on our tail—"

"Get in the house with your men!"

Face finished the transfer and was surprised to find himself _behind_ Hannibal as they rushed to the back door of the house. The woman followed them and locked the door behind them.

The two younger men in first stood awkwardly in the kitchen, while Hannibal skirted Face, still attempting to talk to the woman.

"I'm sorry!" he kept apologizing. "We can hide upstairs—"

"Bungalow, Boss!" Face reminded him as he went to the front room to watch out the window.

"What 'bout my van?" B.A. asked over everyone.

"—or just head out the back door again, if you'll keep our bags—"

"John—stop it!" the woman commanded. She physically shushed him with a hand on his mouth. She took the papers he still held, and turned her attention to Murdock and B.A. "Go to the fireplace—move the grate. You can hide there. And don't worry about your van—I just readjusted the seat."

The black man looked confused but once again, Murdock pushed him through the door towards the living room.

"Their car just drove by!" Face shouted.

"Hey Boss!" Murdock cried joyfully. "There's a ladder here! Like a secret passage!"

Hannibal mimicked the confused expression B.A. had given her, but she only smiled and herded him to the living room.

"Quick, gophers! In the hole!" Murdock exclaimed, and didn't hesitate to climb down. B.A. followed, and then Hannibal ordered Face to go too.

When the three had disappeared, he paused long enough to tell her with a grin that was almost normal, "You've never been sexier to me than right now."

"In the hole, gopher," she told him, returning the smile while pushing him lightly on the chest. He almost took her hand before catching a glimpse of a dark car slowing down in front of the house, and hurried down the ladder as well.

* * *

><p>B.A. closed the hatch as soon as Hannibal had cleared the ladder. Sound from above was abruptly cut off.<p>

The overhead incandescent lighting flickered a bit before it burned steady. The four stood in the small room, looking at the supplies around them. Two bunks were permanent, with two more folded into the walls above. Shelves held non-perishable food, water, and books. A door at the foot of one bed opened to a small bathroom with an even smaller shower, complete with a supply of soaps and towels. At the far end of the room, a large TV screen dominated the wall.

"Jesus," Face breathed. "Who is this woman? Was she waiting for the apocalypse?"

"No," Hannibal answered with a sinking feeling, the smile he'd managed up above vanishing. "I think she was waiting for us."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: still no recognizable characters are mine. Luckily, there is no shortage of generic, anonymous Federal Agents available for adoption.

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><p>The tremulous tone in his voice and the fact that he sat heavily down on the closer of the two beds startled the other three. They looked questions at each other, none of them quite sure what to do with an uncertain, helpless looking Hannibal.<p>

Murdock sat down beside his former CO. "Hey, Bossman, don't be so upset. Part of the plan, right?"

Face watched Hannibal closely as the older man straightened.

"Right."

He may have fooled Murdock and B.A.—although the black man still looked at Hannibal with slightly narrowed eyes—but it's hard to con a conman, Face thought. This wasn't part of any plan you came up with in the van, Hannibal . . .

"Let's see what kind of reception we get underground," Murdock said. He picked up the remote from one of the shelves and flicked the screen on.

It came to life, divided into four.

"Security feeds. Sweet," said Murdock in awe. B.A. sat down on the other bed.

One camera was on the driveway. The Feds car took up most of the screen, although some of the front door was visible too. They watched one agent peer through the garage window and motion his partner over. B.A. bristled since it was obvious they were talking about his van.

The second camera showed the kitchen.

Another camera covered the living room. They watched the woman open a wall safe and put the papers she'd forcefully taken from Hannibal into it.

The final one was the foyer.

Only Face noticed Hannibal tense up again as the agents left the garage and walked to the front door. Their knocks resounded through the little room, making the four jump.

"I'm pretty sure this place is sound-proofed, fool, but turn it down!" B.A. hissed.

"I didn't know there was audio!" Murdock explained even as he complied.

Hannibal's tension was contagious. The other three watched the screens with rapt attention as well, involuntarily apprehensive too. As they watched the agents knock again, with more force, they saw the woman take a breath, straighten her shirt, and go to the front door.

"Hannibal, who is she? Is this going to be okay?" Face asked again, quietly. As if acting like the other two couldn't hear his question, like it was private, would encourage the older man to answer.

"Stella can take care of herself," Hannibal replied tersely, not taking his eyes from the screen.

Twice, Bossman, Face thought. That's twice you've been unsure. Twice you've lied to us and yourself to cover up the fact that you just _don't know . . . _jesus, you're ashen . . .

Having the knowledge that his former CO, the man who always had a plan, always had an angle, the man who was unshakable, was sitting there gray-faced and almost petrified in fear didn't make Face feel better. In fact, it made him cold and nauseous.

Face suddenly needed to sit down. He did so next to Hannibal, who didn't move over. Face didn't care; he was fine being pressed against the older man right now. Had it been Murdock he'd have thrown an arm over the other man's shoulders, but this was Hannibal, and Face didn't know how he'd react. It was better to just sit here and hope for the best.

They watched her open the door only slightly, with the chain lock in place.

"Yes?" she asked, with just the right amount of curiosity and apprehension.

"Federal agents, ma'am," the one closer to the door answered, flashing a badge quickly from his wallet. "We have reason to believe there are armed and dangerous fugitives in the area, and are checking the surrounding households."

"Fugitives?"

"Wanted men, ma'am. Have you seen any of these men?" His partner produced a single piece of paper with pictures photocopied onto it. The four watching the scene through the camera couldn't make out the photos, but knew who it portrayed. She took it, looked it over, and shook her head as she handed it back. "Can we come in?"

Hannibal tensed almost imperceptibly, and Face responded just as slightly by leaning into him a bit more.

She was shaking her head. "No—I haven't seen or heard anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?" he asked.

B.A. groaned, leaning his head against the wall behind him but not taking his eyes from the screen. Murdock chewed two of his fingernails, and Face felt impotent since there wasn't anything to be said or any joke to be made to relieve the anxiety flooding the space.

"No, I don't," she answered firmly.

The taller second man, who hadn't spoken yet, looked directly at camera number one and in an off-handed way, reached up and yanked the power cord out of the back of the machine. The four in the hidden room jumped at the sudden static on the screen and the woman's exclamation of,

"Hey! That's private property!"

Hannibal was almost on his feet. It gave Face the opportunity to grab his former CO's arm and hold him in place. Murdock had the same idea, but before they had to do anything more than take his elbows, the screen flickered back to life.

It startled all of them.

"Boss—what is that?" B.A. asked quietly. "How'd that camera come back on-line?"

Deep furrows marred Hannibal's forehead. At least he was perplexed enough to stay seated and not do anything stupid—like bolt up that ladder—right now.

"I don't know."

Hannibal didn't shake off the two holding him, and they continued to watch the scene above.

"Ma'am, we know those men are here," the first man was saying forcefully.

"Their van is in the garage," the taller man added.

"Their van?" she replied. "That's my van."

"Right."

"Excuse me?" she asked with disbelief in her voice. "Yes. That's _my_ van. I'm not quite sure what you're trying to imply."

"We followed that van to this location—"

"Maybe you followed a van that looks like my van, but I assure you, the one in my garage is _mine."_

The two agents looked at each other. The taller of the two looked angry, but the first only gave a slight shrug. "We need to see registration papers, ma'am."

"Honestly, I don't think I need to show you anything, but if it will get you off my porch—" She cut herself off with a head shake. "Just wait here a moment."

The fourth camera in the foyer showed her shutting the door and then her back as she turned and went into the living room, moving toward that camera. The four men underground could see the set to her jaw as she opened the safe that she'd only recently locked. The trembling in her hand was also noticable, but luckily the agents outside couldn't see it from their vantage point.

From the first (broken?) camera's feed, they watched the first agent cup his hands onto the glass of the door to see more easily inside.

She took the sheaf of papers out and selected a folded one. Leaving the safe open and taking a breath, she turned her back to the living room camera and re-entered the foyer. Once again, she opened the door with the chain in place.

"Here," she said curtly, slipping the paper out for the man to take. "Registration papers. Okay?"

Face tore his gaze away from the screens as B.A. breathed out heavily.

"You did have a plan, Colonel," the black man said in a combination of awe and relief.

Hannibal barely acknowledged it. If he was ever prone to nervous habits, Face realized, now would be the time that they'd be raging full bore.

The man had handed the paper to his partner, who scrutinized it, then gave it back through the partly open door. She took it primly.

"Good enough for you? Will you leave now?"

"You always keep a bottle of cologne in your safe, ma'am?" the first agent asked, nodding towards the living room.

Murdock looked passed Hannibal to Face, who shrugged. With the camera position, they could only see the open door of the safe, not the contents of it. The agents apparently could, however.

Hannibal breathed out in the same manner B.A. had.

She sighed. "The cologne is my father's," she answered, even more curtly. "_Was _my father's—he passed away and I keep it to remind me of him. Is that against a law?"

"No ma'am. But aiding and abetting federal fugitives is a felony that can and will include charges of conspiracy. These men are dangerous, ma'am. We're only looking out for your safety."

"And I told you, I don't know what you're talking about. I think you should leave now."

The man stared at her a long moment, and she didn't drop her gaze.

"Good girl," Hannibal murmured.

"We'll be going, then," the agent said. He reached into his wallet again, and held out a business card. "Here's my card. You'll call if you see them."

She took the card.

"Thank you for your time, ma'am," he said with a nod, then turned and followed his partner to their vehicle.

The four team members watched her lock the door behind them. A collective sigh of relief drifted through the underground room as the federal agents got into their car, put it in reverse and left the driveway.

Without seeming worried, she returned to the safe, placed the papers and business card in it, locked it, and went to the kitchen.

"Now what, Bossman?"

Hannibal continued to watch camera number two. He brought a hand to his mouth in the habit of having a cigar there; when he realized a smoke wasn't present he rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin instead. No one pushed him for an answer to the spoken question.

The four watched the woman set up a blender on the counter. Dumping several ice cubes into it plus a splash of water, she held the lid and turned it on. The noise from the appliance chewing ice echoed through the camera's audio feed.

As the blender worked, the woman grabbed a dry erase board from the refrigerator door, erased whatever had been written on it and wrote something new. In a moment, she held the board up to the camera.

"They're still outside. Will probably come back with a warrant. Stay put."

The woman took the dry erase board away, gave the camera a smile and a wink, and turned off the blender as she erased the board again.

His men turned to Hannibal. He closed his eyes for a second, then was able to grin characteristically, like he did when things fell into place. It was only slightly off, with no cigar. Face noted with relief that color was coming back to the older man's face.

"Let's stow our stuff, boys. We may be here a while."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: recognizable characters still aren't mine. Drat.

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><p>They discovered that the bunks had storage chests underneath, and bracketed to the undersides of the chest's lids were—<p>

"Face keeps askin' who that woman is, Colonel," B.A. said cheerfully as he looked over the small array of handguns and ammo squirreled away there, "but I wanna know if she has a _sister."_

Hannibal laughed, and the other two joined him.

He shoved his bag under the bunk with Murdock's, extracting a small cigar case from the front pocket before shutting the lid. He sat down again, turning the case over and over in his hand without opening it before stating,

"Christ. I need a smoke."

B.A. had finished inspecting the weapons and had focused his attention back to the TV screen. Without turning around, he flipped another cigar case from the shelf near him in Hannibal's direction. "Here, Colonel."

Hannibal caught it and opened the top.

"Same brand," Face observed, over his shoulder.

Looking down at the two sets of cigars in his hands, the older man gave a fond smile that Face knew wasn't for his benefit.

"It's probably not a good idea to light up down here," Hannibal rued.

Still not facing the rest of them, B.A. shrugged. "It's okay. We're used to it. An' you can feel the air exchange, right? There's fresh air bein' pumped inta here about twelve times a minute."

The other three stared at the black man's back. He remained oblivious.

"Look at this," he continued, indicating the upper left hand feed of the screen. "This camera that the Fed ripped the power cord outta? When it came back on, the angle's different."

Murdock joined him, standing so close to the screen he almost touched it.

"I think you may have something there, Sherlock," he told B.A. without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

Hannibal occupied himself with cutting and lighting one of the cigars from his own case and taking several tokes before focusing on the screen again.

Murdock went on. "You're right, Bosco! This is slightly off here, and right here you can see it's just a little higher than it was before—" He tried to demonstrate with his hands the angles he was seeing, but he managed to block most of the view. He gave up and faced B.A. "How did you see this, Holmes?"

"Because I got younger eyes than you, crazy!" B.A. told him loudly. "Drop the Sherlock Holmes bit—don't even think about gettin' me one a' them deerstalker hats!"

Hannibal chuckled, because he could tell the wheels in Murdock's head were turning in that direction.

"This is a different camera, Colonel," B.A. concluded. "How come the Feds didn't see it?"

Hannibal chewed the end of his cigar and looked serious. "I don't know. I installed the original camera, but I don't know where the additional feed is coming from. With the power cord on the first one yanked, you're absolutely right. It must have a different power source and be a completely different camera."

"Set up to start recording when the primary is cut?" Face asked.

"Suppose so," Hannibal answered with a shrug.

"Wait one wild darn minute!" Murdock exclaimed. "You said you installed the original camera, but you don't know anything about a backup? What does _that_ mean? What is going on here?"

As his team's attention became riveted to him, Hannibal sighed and studied his cigar. He inhaled as if to speak, then closed his mouth again. The other three waited.

Ah, thought Face. You refuse to answer me, but if the rest of the team gets shaken by fact that you might not really have a viable plan—

"It means that Ms. Stella Cavanaugh, the kind lady who's offering us asylum, has been doing some supplementary work around the house that I wasn't aware of."

Face was able to keep a snarky, "Including this fancy bomb shelter?" from escaping his lips as the other two men stared questions at their former CO.

* * *

><p>Even though they were still burning with curiosity—Murdock was especially wheedling—Hannibal refused to say much more about the situation, or what, exactly was going through his mind, or about Ms. Stella Cavanaugh, with the exception of:<p>

"She's an old friend."

B.A. snorted. "Man, I can barely borrow _twenty bucks_ from my old friends, never mind all this!"

He indicated with his hand the room around them, and left the implication of what he thought Hannibal's "friend" actually was hanging in the air.

Hannibal still didn't rise to the bait. "We're getting some rest, then I'm going up there."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Boss," Face disagreed. He was happy to see Murdock shake his head in support too. "She's right. Those agents aren't just going to drive away and not look back. They'll be back with a warrant to search the place. You know that!"

"I have to go talk to her," Hannibal growled.

"She don't look like we need ta talk to her," B.A. added, nodding toward the TV screen. She was lounging on the couch with a magazine, seemingly relaxed.

"You can't go up there."

Hannibal spun and directed a hard stare at Face. "What did you just say to me?"

Face stood up to face the older man, but didn't act intimidated. "You can't go up there, Hannibal." He deliberately didn't call him "Colonel" or "Boss" or anything else that insinuated a superior. He narrowed his eyes and pushed the envelope a little farther. "She said stay put, and she's absolutely right! What _part_ of you is thinking?"

As Face expected, Hannibal bristled.

"Don't you ever dare to tell me—"

"You can't pull rank, Hannibal," Face interrupted forcefully. "We're in a crappy situation here—and I _know_ she's in one too!" he said over Hannibal's attempt to interject. "But like you said, Ms. Cavanaugh seems to be handling things pretty fucking well up there. We _have _to let things settle down."

One reason he was so good at the roles he played was that Face could read other people. He was an expert in body language, and knew just what buttons to push to manipulate people into whatever he needed them to be. Face watched Hannibal's pupils dilate, saw minute expressions of misgivings and lament cross his face, and noted the tiny breaths and muscle trembles that rocked his torso.

B.A. and Murdock were stock-still, outsiders in the scene.

"Hannibal. Bossman," Face said earnestly, switching back to subordinate language purposefully, taking the older man's shoulders and dipping his head to peer directly into his eyes, "I promise—_I promise—_that if things start going south up there we'll take care of it. She's supplied us with everything we need down here; we're not going to let anything happen to her."

Now the other two murmured agreements.

After a long, tense pause, Hannibal nodded.


	4. Author's Note

Author's note:

I _sincerely_ apologize for stopping the flow of the story, but I need opinions. Who better to ask than the nice folks reading this?

There's a chapter I have planned coming up that isn't vital to the story; it just adds more interaction and flavor. Oh, and in the interest of full disclosure, it's _smut_. It would increase the rating of this piece to M. My question is:

Would you like me to include this chapter? Again, it's not essential to the story, I just think it flows realistically within it. On the other hand, due to the rating increase, I'm happy to not include it but send it to interested readers privately.

Your thoughts on the matter? I'm very torn with what to do. A response through review is okay, although a PM or email (my email is available on my profile page) is preferred.

Once more, sorry for the interruption, but thanks for your attention!

Yours,

Hoodoo


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made.

Thank you to all for the input regarding my dilemma. Overwhelming response was to include the chapter, and so it will be. However, it won't be for a bit yet. The rating will increase with that particular chapter, so if you see the "M", you'll know what's coming.

Thanks again! You all are the best!

* * *

><p>Later that same night, Stella tapped the camera in the kitchen to catch their attention, and held the dry erase board up for them to see:<p>

"Turn down your speakers. I have to play some music."

When Murdock didn't comply quickly enough, Celtic-Punk music resonated through the small room.

"What the hell _is_ that?" B.A. complained over the clamor of guitars and pipes and deep-voiced men.

As the volume was adjusted, Hannibal's responding laugh was also too loud.

* * *

><p>She played the music with no pattern and started it up the next day too, and the four tried to ignore what little drifted to them through the audio. Hannibal settled with one of the books she'd provided, while the other three located a deck of cards and were playing what looked like poker but with Murdock occasionally forcing them to "Go Fish!"<p>

Another tap on the camera lens made them look up.

"Have to borrow your van. I'll be careful, B.A!" she had written, punctuated with a little heart after the exclamation point.

B.A.'s lips thinned, but he didn't say anything except, "She better turn this damn music off before she goes."

She did.

So now they stayed in silence. They'd been in more cramped sites before, and ones with fewer amenities, but it was frustrating nonetheless. A question of turning the security feeds off and regular TV on was met with an intense stare over Hannibal's reading glasses; even Murdock could read the unspoken reply and didn't ask again. Instead, he coerced Face into a game of Red Hands, which ended up not being entirely fair due to his slightly superior reflexes.

B.A. was invited, but refused to play "that game" with "the crazy fool", and kept one eye on the screen for the return of his precious vehicle. He, like Hannibal, ignored the fact that the other two men seemed to be doing something less like slapping and something more like holding hands. Plus giggling at private jokes.

"Oh _shit,"_ he said aloud, with groaning emphasis on the profanity.

Three other pairs of eye snapped up to the screens.

The Feds' car was back.

"Hannibal?" Murdock asked. His one word question hung in the air.

Hannibal set his book aside and snuffed out his cigar. No matter what B.A. said about fresh air exchange, it wasn't a good idea to have the faint smell of cigar smoke hanging around a house when the woman who owned it didn't smoke at all.

"Sit tight," he ordered as if someone suggested otherwise. "If they came back with a warrant, they'll enter whether or not Stella is here—"

Another groan from B.A. announced her arrival in the driveway.

"Fuck!" Face swore this time. "Are they going to think it's weird she didn't plug her security camera back in?"

No one could answer him.

They saw through the screens her ease the van passed the car in her driveway. In a few seconds after pulling into the garage, she walked back out, holding her hands up in exasperation. Murdock increased the volume again to catch the conversation.

"You're back!"

"Yes ma'am. We have a signed warrant to search these premises."

"A warrant? May I see it?"

The agent shrugged and pulled a folded slip of paper from his inside coat pocket. She took it, read over it, and handed it back.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "I've got groceries to bring in—do you think you could help me with them?"

Murdock clamped his hand over his mouth to cloak the snigger that escaped him. He glanced over at Hannibal to see if his outburst was going to be out of place. When his former CO didn't respond, Murdock couldn't help whispering, "She's crazier than me!"

"Crazy or not," Face replied, "she's making them do it."

It was true; Stella opened the back of the van and handed over plastic bags full of groceries to the two men. The agents looked slightly disconcerted, but took the bags and followed her out of camera sight to the back door.

The audio feed wasn't enough to pick up the sound of a key in the lock of the back door, but in only a few more minutes the three of them came into view in the kitchen's feed.

"Just set them on the floor," Stella told the two. "You go look around and fulfill your warrant. I'll be here, putting things away."

"They ain't gonna let her do that," B.A. said half-under his breath. "No Feds are gonna let the owner of a house just do her own thing while they snoop around."

He was right; one agent left the room while the other stood by the stove in the kitchen.

Stella shrugged. "Okay."

She began unloading groceries around him.

Now there was activity on two screens. Stella busied herself, and in an odd mimicry, so did the agent going through her house.

The agent in the kitchen watched her sharply. "You bought a lot of steaks."

"I like steak," she answered evenly. "It was on sale, and I stock up."

The agent in the living room studied the safe.

"Ma'am?" he called. "I need you to open this safe."

"Is that in your warrant?" she replied tiredly.

"Yes, ma'am, it is."

With another sigh that was visible to the men under her house, she left the kitchen and reappeared on the living room's camera. The agent in the kitchen didn't follow; he took the opportunity to search the room she had just vacated.

Stella joined the agent by the wall safe. She made to work the combination dial, but when he didn't turn away, she said,

"Do you mind?"

The agent watched her for a moment, and then slowly turned his back.

With swift fingers, she unlocked the safe. Opening the door, she said,

"There you go."

The agent pulled on rubber gloves and emptied the lockbox. He set the papers he found on the coffee table, as well as a slim jewelry case, a passport, and the bottle of cologne. He sat down on the couch to look through the paperwork. She remained standing.

"Is that your cologne, Boss?" Murdock asked quietly. The oppressive tension in the room made whispering seem the right thing to do.

"Of course it's my cologne!" Hannibal snapped back.

Fuck, Face swore again, this time to himself. Bossman's back to being one step away from a freak out again—

Silently he offered the older man the half-smoked cigar back. Hannibal took it without a word in return and chewed fitfully on the end.

B.A. followed Murdock's suit, and whispered, "Colonel, what exactly is that paperwork?"

"Title and registration for your van. A couple of repair receipts with warranties."

"In her name?"

He received a tired nod in response. Hannibal's face was slowly losing color again. "I had them forged for contingencies. I _never_ wanted to use them."

"Good thing you had a backup plan," B.A. praised, tipping his head to the screen.

When their former CO didn't respond right away, Face and Murdock turned to look at him again too. Hannibal was very, very slowly shaking his head. His mouth was suddenly dry; he removed the cigar and tried to wet his lips but couldn't produce enough spit to complete the motion.

"Boss?" prompted Face gently. Even if this was obviously a touchy subject, if Hannibal was willing to tell them something about the woman who was risking a hell of a lot to help them, he wanted the conversation to continue.

Hannibal continued to shake his head. When he replied, his voice lacked the typical air of authority the men had come to expect. "I never told her. She saw what the papers were when she took them from me in the kitchen."

Face felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and from the expressions on B.A.'s and Murdock's faces, they were experiencing the same. The unexpected comment _hurt._ Murdock had covered his mouth again, but not with delight this time.

"Oh shit," he murmured through his fingers.

Suddenly Face couldn't look at Hannibal any more. He ground his teeth, trying to contain himself, but willpower wasn't enough stop himself from accusing out loud,

"She's doing this _blind?_ You dump us in here, into her life, and don't even tell her what script she has to work from? Jesus, Hannibal—what shit plan is _that?"_

The fact that Hannibal didn't react much in any way to the berating made the room seem colder. His non-responsiveness, in comparison to the anger that flared up the night before after Face spoke back to him, only fanned Face's rage. Face's vision had shrunk to the space directly in front of him; he only imagined the flinch that Hannibal gave and the support he received from his teammates.

"Shut up, fool," B.A. said, directing a glare at Face that he usually reserved for Murdock.

"Am I _wrong?"_

The black man and Murdock both became indignant for their former Colonel.

"You _are_ wrong, fool! Look at what she's been able ta do—" started B.A.

Murdock, who was still in front of him, grabbed his wrists and, with his thumbs on pressure points, yanked him to his feet. Face protested in surprise, but the pilot twisted him until he'd forced his friend into the miniscule bathroom and shut the door behind them.

Their voices were muffled but not completely cut off.

"Knock it off, Faceman!" the other two heard Murdock order.

"This is bullshit! You know it's bullshit—there is no way—"

"This is _Hannibal!"_ Murdock overrode. "He knows what he's doing—do you think he'd ever do something to—don't you ever doubt—"

Face tried protesting again, but the sounds of a small struggle muted his words. Murdock's voice came through again.

"—know it's scary, but you are _not helping!"_

Through it all, Hannibal sat dull and silent.

On the video feeds, the Fed in the kitchen had finished and disappeared up the stairs to the second floor. The first was still scrutinizing the paperwork. Stella still stood patiently nearby.

Murdock's voice dropped to a level too low to make out individual words. In light of the situation and for his former CO's benefit, B.A. stifled another groan.

When that damn crazy fool was the voice of reason, they were in some deep shit, he thought.

The two men exited the bathroom, one with a more determined air that was at odds with his characteristic free-wheeling demeanor, and the other chagrined and somehow taking up less space than typical.

This time, Face didn't hesitate to throw an arm over Hannibal's shoulders as he sat down next to him.

"Sorry, Bossman," he whispered, but loud enough for the others to hear.

Murdock stood awkwardly for a moment, then dropped down on the bunk too and pointedly turned his attention to the TV screen.

"What's been happening?"

B.A. shrugged. "Same. The tall guy went upstairs. The other one's been studying Hannibal's papers—"

Just as he said it, the agent finished. "You're supposed to keep this paperwork in your vehicle, ma'am. Especially the insurance information."

On the screen, Stella shrugged. "Just habit."

The agent watched her for a moment, and then shrugged in return. He didn't put anything back in the safe, but left it all on her coffee table as he examined the room again. He stared directly into the security camera.

"You have an outside firm for security? I didn't see any company sign in the yard or window."

Stella shook her head. "I'm a single woman, living alone. It's enough to have them as deterrents."

The agent looked thoughtful again, but seemed to accept her answer.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and the agent turned away from the camera. "Anything?" they heard him ask.

The taller man shook his head.

The first man nodded slowly in response, then turned on his heel towards Stella. "Thank you for your time, ma'am. We'd appreciate it if you didn't leave town for a while. In case we have other questions."

"I don't have any plans to leave."

"Good. Here's my card—"

She accepted it again, like she did yesterday.

"—and remember, these men—" He extracted the same folded paper with the photos on it he'd had yesterday and handed it to her too, "—are dangerous. Do not engage them. If you see them, you will call me."

Stella nodded. He didn't take the photos back.

"Thank you again ma'am. We'll show ourselves out."

She followed them to the door anyway. On the stoop, the taller of the two men reached up towards the camera again. The group below held their collective breath, but he only fiddled with the power cord again. In a moment, the screen they were watching flickered with interference, and then came back up with the original feed again.

B.A. shook his head at the technology.

The two agents nodded to Stella again, and then went to their car.

She locked the door behind them and unhurriedly turned to tidy up the contents of her safe. She took her time, and only after the car had backed out of her driveway did she go to the kitchen and pick up the dry erase board again.

"Gone!" she wrote. "May still be hanging around though. Have to turn the music back on. Sorry!"

Then she erased her words and wrote,

"No worries!"

And she smiled broadly into the screen.

B.A. kicked at Face, who kicked back, although it was much less full of meaning.

Stella turned away from the camera again and in a moment, the same music she'd been playing poured into the room.

Murdock reduced the volume. "Why's she keep playing that music?"

They looked expectantly at Hannibal. Once again, color was creeping back to the older man's face. "It's cover. So it won't be odd that she's playing it when—"

"When we get up there!" Face finished. He looked surprised.

"Yeah," Hannibal concurred.

"You didn't tell her that either, didja, Bossman?" Murdock grinned.

A shake of his head was their answer. "I certainly wouldn't have told her to play Irish-inspired punk music . . ."

The slight amusement (and even slighter resignation from a strategy not going exactly right but still, somehow, working out) in his voice sounded more like the Hannibal they knew.

B.A. and Murdock whooped. Hannibal joined with a smirk.

The dazed expression didn't leave Face. In a moment, he shook himself and drew himself up straighter next to his former CO.

"Hannibal," he said, catching the older man's attention from re-lighting his smoke. "I'm sorry, man. I should have never doubted—"

The smile dropped from Hannibal's face, and the other two fell quiet.

"This time, kid . . . you were right."

"No," Face insisted, "no! You're the man with the plan, right? Right? So who do I think I am, to ever even think that a woman you'd hook up with couldn't hold her own?"

Hannibal's eyes locked on his. Face didn't drop his gaze, willing the other man to know the sincerity was absolutely genuine, not a calculated Faceman veneer. It was twice in two days—even if the first time Hannibal had been so consumed with apprehension he wasn't aware of it—that Face hadn't believed in the man he respected and trusted with his life. Twice was two times too many, and he needed Hannibal to understand that he didn't mean it, that he'd been stupid and scared, and he was more sorry than he could verbalize—

The lines near Hannibal's eyes told him the smile he received in return was just as authentic. "Thanks, kid."

Relief flooded him, and he understood that the squeeze on his shoulder that was slightly too painful was meant to be forgiveness.


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: guess what? Not mine.

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><p>The next few days fell into a pattern. More sleeping than they were used to. The heavy rocking of Celtic punk music, which unfortunately Murdock seemed to be getting into. Cards and reading. Canned meals that were a step up from MREs, but only just. B.A. categorized and cleaned each weapon stored there systematically.<p>

Stella occasionally wrote them notes, apologizing for having to borrow the van several times, and signed most of the notes with a heart.

Finally she tapped on the camera one afternoon and wrote,

"No sign of those men. Want to join me for dinner?"

A lengthy debate raged between the four. Between "she may not see them, but that doesn't mean they're not_ there_" and "we have to leave _sometime_", Hannibal kept quiet most of the conversation. He knew he was too biased to contribute sensibly.

Ultimately the decision was made to send Hannibal up first.

It wasn't his choice; the rest of the team told him it was because he knew what to look for in the ways of bugs and other spyware possibly left by the Federal agents. B.A. was actually the man for that job, but he insisted with the rest that Hannibal go up and check it out.

Hannibal didn't protest too much, and as he climbed the ladder he ignored the next semi-whispered argument as to whether or not the TV screen with the security feeds should be turned off. He didn't catch the final outcome of that squabble and frankly, didn't care.

With a grunt, he unlocked the hatch and climbed up out of the hole.

Of course the Celtic-punk music was louder up here, and once again, he didn't care. Stella greeted him with open arms and he hugged her tightly, and then kissed her open-mouthed.

She laughed as the kiss finished. "I'm not supposed to engage you."

Hannibal chuckled deep in his throat and leaned closer to say near her ear, "Then you'll need to watch out. I'm hoping to engage you even more, later tonight."

She laughed again. "Your men are here. Isn't that a little rude and awkward?"

"We're grown men, living together. You think I've never had to wear earplugs because one of them had a woman with them?"

Stella squeezed him. "Aren't they coming up?"

"Not till I tell them. I'm up here to check for evidence of surveillance devices."

"I've not found anything suspicious cleaning up."

"Good. No strange cars driving through the neighborhood? No one tailing you when you go out?"

She shook her head at his questions. "Not that I've seen."

He nodded in return, returned the squeeze, and stepped out of her arms to begin his search. Like she had said, he didn't locate any obvious microphones or cameras. That didn't mean there wasn't someone outside, with a long-range microphone trying to listen in, but the music would cover that.

Hannibal rapped on the hatch to indicate it was clear for the rest to join them. Stella stood up from the couch and he went to her, saying,

"You did a good job—"

She immediately shook her head and he stopped at the sudden teary appearance of her eyes. "We'll talk about it later," she whispered, with no room for argument in her voice.

Without waiting for a reply from him, she stepped away. Hannibal scrutinized her a moment as she forcefully wiped a hand over her eyes, and then turned to give a hand to the three clambering out of her floor.

Stella greeted the men she'd heard stories of and ushered through her house but had never formally met graciously and without reservation. B.A. was the first up, and once her eyes were dry, she joined Hannibal. The big black man accepted her hug with surprise and her,

"I'm glad to finally meet you! Your van is just how you left it. Well, I did take it through the car wash. And you'll just have to re-adjust the seat,"

with a self-conscious grin.

Murdock was next out. Having seen the embrace she gave B.A., he beat her to it, throwing his arms open and squeezing her with a sincere thank you. Then he seemed to remember Hannibal was watching and let her go, only to catch her hand and give a formal bow, complete with a kiss to the back of her hand.

Stella laughed and told him he was quite welcome.

Last out, but apparently determined not to be outdone, Face took her hands as well and pulled her close. Using the techniques in his considerable arsenal of charm, he caught her eyes and held them, leaning close enough that only she could hear him murmur against her ear that he couldn't thank her enough. As his breath tickled her cheek, he brought her hand up, tipped it, and brushed his lips in a butterfly caress across the inside of her wrist.

The older woman caught her breath. She caught her lower lip in her teeth as she smiled, and looked over to Hannibal, who raised an eyebrow. At the inquiring expression she gave him, he responded with a slight eye roll. It made her smile even wider, and she turned her attention back to Face.

She cupped his cheek, and saw the same laughter in his eyes too.

Hannibal stepped up. "Okay, Mr. Libertine, enough."

It made Face and Stella laugh aloud. Face let her go with another impish grin to indicate to Hannibal it was only play.

"Well, I'm delighted you're able to come for dinner," Stella told the group. "Make yourselves at home—although I probably don't have to tell you to stay away from the windows. I'll go get dinner started.

"John, you can bring up the bags and everyone can get settled into bedrooms. It'll be more comfortable than the bunks down below. If you think it's safe."

After a quick conference between himself, B.A. and Face—Murdock wandered after Stella into the kitchen—they decided to go ahead and collect a change of clothing instead of bringing their bags completely up. Just in case.

So while their pilot-cum-chef assisted in the kitchen ("Don't go near that grill outside!" Hannibal had ordered. Then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bring the grill inside, either!" Murdock had grumbled under his breath but obeyed), the rest of them organized what they were taking to the two spare bedrooms. As Hannibal climbed the stairs towards Stella's room, a brief, non-verbal scuffle broke out between Face and B.A. as to who would have to occupy the other upstairs bedroom.

The silent shoving and attempts to get behind one another ended when B.A. whispered through gritted teeth,

"Knock it off, Peck! I ain't goin' up there!"

"You want me to get out the horse tranqs? Like we do when we have to get you on a Murdock-piloted plane?" Face threatened, with just as much whispered determination.

"Come on, man! You know it'll be like hearin' your parents havin' sex!"

"I didn't have parents! I could give a shit what the foster families did!"

"Okay, then it'll be like us listenin' ta _you_ havin' sex! You oughtta have to deal with it for once!"

"No way!"

The pushing against each other started again, even though Face knew he'd lose a completely strength-based contest.

"Bring Murdock's stuff up here," Hannibal interrupted them, unseen from the upstairs hall. "You two prudes can share the first floor bedroom and shield your virgin ears!"

Caught and guilty, the two men stopped jostling.

"Murdock. That's a great idea," Face agreed.

"Good. Keeps that fool away from me, and me away from—" B.A. jerked a finger towards the stairs to finish his statement.

Hannibal was back down the stairs to collect Murdock's clothing and his multiple bottles of medications before they started up. The look he gave them was neutral; and they did their best to keep their expressions the same. They were less successful.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: guess what? Still not mine. I promise to play nicely with them and put them back where they belong, just a little worse for wear.

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><p>The music still played, but for the comfort of everyone the volume was lowered and the genre shifted from harder to more traditional folk. For dinner, they pulled the Stella's table partially into the kitchen to keep away from the large windows in the dining room. Face and B.A. got drinks for everybody—brandy for Hannibal, beer and milk for themselves respectively, a rum and coke for Stella and a hastily improvised mocktail of milk and coke for Murdock.<p>

Murdock, as expected, had commandeered cooking the steaks, which ranged from charred and black to bloody and barely warm.

Face and B.A. watched with barely disguised disgust as the rare steak was lifted to Stella's plate.

"Lady's request, gents," Murdock explained.

"Better than the boot leather you're going to try to break your teeth on," she told them, indicating the steaks on their plates.

Everyone shrugged comfortably, and ate.

"So, Ms. Cavanaugh—"

"Stella, please!"

"Stella," Face amended, "it's obvious Hannibal here has mentioned us to you. However, he's been less forthcoming about you to us. How did you two meet?"

"I'm sure it's more interesting to hear how you managed to build a panic room," Hannibal replied, before she had a chance to. "You never mentioned thinking about anything like that."

His men shifted their attention to him, amusement and questions flitting over their faces. It wasn't often they saw him disconcerted during a conversation.

Stella turned to him too. "That was subtle, John," she said with a smile to soften the sarcasm. "And the answer is very simple: _someone_ kept sending me money, so I decided it needed to be used for _something._ It was either that room or a sauna, and I figured I would get a better re-sale out of the bunker."

"Well, I'm glad that money was put to good use."

"Mm-hmm. You're welcome to any of the firearms too."

The other three watched the exchange with varying degrees of interest, but B.A. perked up when she mentioned the guns.

Hannibal immediately shook his head. "No. You bought them; they're registered under your name. If we take them and they're found—and you didn't file a report that they were missing—you'll be under investigation too."

"Always worried about me getting into trouble," she replied fondly, squeezing his wrist on the table. "What if I told you some of them weren't registered?"

His gaze became much sharper. Stella squeezed him again as she said,

"We'll talk about that later."

B.A. didn't miss the wink she gave him, but when Hannibal's eyes met his, the black man became very engrossed with his plate again.

"Now. Back to your question, Mr. Peck—"

"If I'm not allowed to call you 'Ms.', you're not allowed to call me 'Mr.'," Face interrupted, just as she had done to him.

"Fair enough. Templeton?"

He nodded; few people called him by his first name. It was either Face or Peck or whatever alias was called on for a job or bastard and asshole, depending on the person addressing him and whether or not he'd left a woman on bad terms.

"Well, I was working an overnight triage shift on base—"

Hannibal groaned and leaned back, wondering if it would be rude to use the excuse he needed a cigar to just leave the vicinity. Stella moved her hand to his thigh under the table, though, and with a squeeze pinned him in his chair.

Murdock put his elbows on the table. "Wait—wait—you were on base? What base?"

"Fort Benning, first, then Camp Casey. I worked in a civilian hospital for several years but couldn't seem to get ahead, so I enlisted and Uncle Sam was gracious enough to pay off my nursing school loans."

B.A. nodded in familiarity, saying, "I was stationed at Benning."

Murdock nodded too, but asked, "Your specialty? Please tell me it's psychiatric—I need some updated info on this new med. It makes the back of my knees itchy. I'm pretty sure it's the pill. I guess it could just be a rash."

At his side, B.A. elbowed him. "We're at the table, fool! No one wants to hear 'bout no rash right now!"

Stella shook her head. "Sorry. I am—was—emergency and critical care. I could try to look something up for you—"

Murdock grinned and nodded eagerly, which earned him another elbowing. Face noted that Hannibal wasn't going to prevent these little tangents from de-railing his original question, so he forcibly disregarded the fracas the other two were causing and locked eyes with Stella again. He asked directly, with pointed politeness,

"You were saying?"

Hannibal groaned again, although less loudly. He was ignored too.

"Oh yes. Well, I was overnight triage, and a certain brash young Major happened to come in with a few of his friends."

She glanced over to Hannibal with amusement in her eyes. He attempted to look impassive, like this old news had no effect on here and now, but the corners of his lips curled upwards slightly and the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. His men flicked their attention back and forth between the two, enjoying the discomfort she was putting him through.

Stella paused for a moment, as if in thought. "What was it, exactly? Oh, that's right. The aftermath of a knife fight."

"Knife fight?" B.A. choked.

Face laughed aloud, and Murdock told Hannibal,

"You do have that weird scar near your ear, close to the hairline. I always wondered about it. Knife fight wound is much more manly than a curling iron burn."

Face continued laughing, and B.A. joined him. This was ridiculous, Hannibal thought, and Stella wasn't helping by running her fingers up his in-seam under the table. Next his team was going to think the creeping heat on his cheeks was due to embarrassment. That would never do.

"All right, all right," he announced, over their mirth. "I didn't start the fight, I just finished it. A couple of guys in my unit managed to rile up the locals in a bar, and a brawl broke out. One of the locals got a lucky hit on me, is all."

"And I was the lucky one who got to stitch you up," Stella added, with her own chuckle.

He didn't embellish the story by including the information that because she was working on the side of his head, he'd gotten an excellent view down the front of her scrub top. _She _knew that; he'd told her several times over the years (especially if he was able to sneak an unexpected glimpse down her shirt in other non-sexualized situations), but he hadn't had enough to drink to find a reason for his _men_ to know that.

The laughter hadn't quite dissipated around the table, especially since Murdock was attempting to determine the height of the other man compared to Hannibal, and the angle of the knife to cause such a wound. He held his steak knife by the blade and slid the handle passed his ear experimentally several times, as serious as if he were on the Warren Commission and was investigating the JFK assassination.

"Let me see something, Bosco!" he begged, turning towards the black man.

Still chuckling but not in high enough spirits to left the pilot actually put a knife near his head, B.A. backed away with a, "Absolutely not, fool! Keep that thing away from me!"

"That's what she said," Murdock replied automatically, which made everybody, including Hannibal this time, laugh again.

He caught Stella's wandering hand and kissed her wrist, with more intimacy than Face had done in the living room. She flushed a little too, and he gave her a devilish smirk.

In an attempt to calm down, Face waved his hands a little bit. "Wait, wait a minute. So Boss, you meet a random nurse after a knife fight, and now you've been together for this many years?"

"It wasn't just one knife fight," Stella corrected, which caught everyone's attention again. "As a matter of fact, you seemed to get injured quite a bit after that, and always managed to show up on my shift."

Hannibal harrumphed a little.

"There were a couple of fist-fights, a bruised forearm that missed a crushing injury after an ATV rocked off its jack, sun poisoning, _another_ knife fight—" she elaborated, ticking items off her fingers, then mused, "—somehow John never got reprimanded for the fighting. How did you manage that?"

"I was never the epicenter of it," he explained with an air of innocence. "I just happened be on the periphery of things and then helped mop up afterwards—"

"And get commendations for keeping your boys in line!" Stella interrupted with another laugh.

As the rest of the team laughed at him again, he only shook his head with a grin.

Stella continued, "There was the pitiful excuse of a toothache one time, remember? He also found a way to get a short term transfer while I was in Korea. I didn't even know he was there until he showed up, middle of the night, complaining that he either broke a tooth or had an abscess or something."

"Geez, Boss . . . real smooth," Face muttered.

"And the final straw was the time he really did need immediate attention—"

Hannibal groaned again and dropped his head to hide his sheepish grin and slipped an arm over her chair.

"—for a gunshot wound. He refused treatment until I came in for my shift!"

An outburst of groans and laughter erupted from the table.

"It was only a grazing shot—nothing vital was hit!" Hannibal tried to clarify above the ragging.

Face wiped the tears from his eyes as he watched the couple across the table from him. "And you _dated_ this accident-prone hellion?"

"Oh no," Stella replied chastely, "this was all before he officially asked me out."

The outburst grew loud again. Stella leaned into him and he couldn't help but laugh too as she kissed his cheek.

"So the best you could come up with was 100%, absolute pity," Murdock pondered as he gazed at Hannibal. "Our fearless leader, the man with the plan . . . that was how you finally managed to snag a date."

Hannibal considered. "In that case . . . yep. That's exactly how it worked." He tugged Stella closer and saw the delight in her eyes. He hoped the expression on his face returned it. "But you gotta admit, boys, that plan came together."

The jests and laughter continued into the evening.

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><p><em> author's note:<em>

_FYI, the rating's going up next chapter. :)_


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: not mine, no money made, ad nauseum.

Rating goes up due to this chapter; if you're not interested or into a lascivious chapter, please disregard.

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><p>He should be <em>worshipping<em> her.

She'd saved his hide, saved his boy's hides, risked her freedom and safety—and had done it with what Face had rightfully named a shit plan.

He hadn't been prepared—hadn't calculated the different outcomes and statistically broken them down to determine which situation was most likely. He hadn't even attempted to prepare her. That little fact ran a guilt-poisoned knife right through his gut and left a bitter dryness in the back of his throat.

He never planned for the scenario that took place over the past few days, yet it all fell together and worked out. His plan didn't work because he barely acknowledged he needed a plan, so she did it for him.

Which, again, was why he should be worshipping her like the goddess she was, and not laying back on the bed and letting her do all the fucking.

He tried. He'd _meant_ to. When he couldn't get a private moment in the kitchen for a glass of water without Murdock breathing down his neck, he'd dry swallowed one of his pills. Then, once everyone was winding down for the night, he whispered into her hair that he couldn't wait any longer and he needed to get her upstairs and out of her clothes.

Right.

_Now._

Stella hadn't hesitated; she caught his earlobe in her teeth and bit not-so-gently and at the same time cupped a hand against his fly. He'd had half an erection a majority of the evening, ever since her fingers had teased his inner thigh at the dinner table. It was now moving towards the "awkward to walk because jeans aren't stretchy enough" stage.

She palmed his groin with more force and gave him a smirk that caused his cock to jump.

With the tone of a woman with impeccable virtues and no carnal knowledge, she told the other three to have a good night, please don't stay up too late so it would still seem like she was a single woman living alone, remember to stay away from the windows, and she'd see them in the morning.

Hannibal noticed none of the men were as animated in wishing him a good night as they had with her. That was fine; he didn't particularly want to exchange pleasantries either. Unspoken man rule when someone was going to get laid, and all that. Certainly no one stopped and forced a drawn out conversation with Face when _he _was getting lucky. Hannibal did hope the traditional cat-calls would be kept to a minimum, however.

The standard good-natured heckling was non-existent.

Hmm. Odd.

But he didn't dwell on it. He'd hoped to catch her on the stairs, but she'd been too quick. By the time he'd gotten to her bedroom, his hard-on was gone. That was okay. They'd been together long enough and were old enough not to be mortified by something as ordinary as a little thing like that, among other things. Take too long to come? That's great, actually—more time to get her off. Multiple orgasms for her, even, and that made you look like a goddamn superhero. Lose your erection? No worries. There's a pill for that, or—

Stella had a cock ring on her bedside table.

"You know me too well," he chuckled, not self-conscious. "But I don't think I'll need that tonight."

She made a sound of agreement deep in her throat—a sexy sound, a bedroom sound—that sent a wave of heat up his chest. Almost before he'd the door shut behind himself, she was on him, kissing him forcefully. She tried working the small buttons on his shirt with one hand while holding the back of his neck with the other. Her tongue slid around his and she moaned into his mouth.

Unsuccessful one-handed with his buttons, Stella dropped her other hand from behind his head so she could finally get them undone. Hannibal caught both her wrists and made her stop.

He'd still wanted to be the aggressor; he wanted to have her submit to everything he wanted to do to her. But she wiggled away from him and found his mouth again, even as she pulled her body around his so she was behind him, planting a line of kisses across his cheek, then under his ear, to the back of his neck. Her tongue found the thin scar so near his hair line as it always did, and as she was finally able to unfasten his shirt and dip her hands under his belt, his erection was back.

Good intentions were shoved to a far corner of cognizant thought as Stella gripped his cock and gave it a deliberate pull.

Before he knew it, his shirt was in a heap on the floor, his pants and briefs were awkwardly around his ankles, and Stella was back in front of him, on her knees with him in her mouth.

"Oh—oh, Christ," he groaned. He steadied himself with an outstretched arm against her dresser. His other hand threaded through her hair and set the pace. She allowed it; she let him decide how fast and deep he wanted her to work, and that made him hotter than before.

Too much of this and he wasn't going to be any good for her at all. As much mind-numbing pleasure was coursing through him right now, this wasn't anything that he'd planned. Hannibal forced himself to mentally step back from it all and choked,

"God, Stella, you need to stop—I'm not going to be able to—"

She released his cock but kept her face close to his groin as she looked up at him.

"This isn't good enough for you?" she asked in mock dejection.

"You know it is! But I wanted—"

"Maybe you should show me how it's done. How it would be better for you."

She shook his hand out of her hair and took it in her own. Not dropping her eyes from his, she licked his palm, then in between each of his fingers. In a parody of a blowjob, she sucked each of the digits, until his hand was slick with spit.

When she was satisfied with the wetness coating his hand, she moved it to his erection and closed his fingers around it.

Hannibal groaned again. It didn't take much encouragement on her part for him to start jerking himself off; the flush on her cheeks and hearing her quiet, aroused panting under his own gasps were enough.

She watched and let him work himself for a moment, then took the head of his cock in her mouth again. It forced him to loosen his tight-fisted grip on his shaft just a bit; that minute change gave her the opportunity to slip her tongue under his fingers as he pumped. The sensation buckled his knees.

"S-stella—oh Christ, I have to stop—I can't—go on much longer—"

And just as he thought he was at the brink of no return, Stella once again released him. She took his hand away from himself too.

For a moment, tiny black spots drifted through his vision. She was on her feet, kissing her way up his chest before he could focus again, but he reached for her.

"Why are your clothes still on?" he asked muzzily.

Stella shrugged with a saucy smile. Hannibal shook the haze out of his head and took the hem of her shirt, tugging to lift it over head. It really wasn't fair he was naked and she wasn't, and he intended to change that situation right now, and take over this whole operation—

Once again, she skipped out of his grip. Twisting herself and pulling him by the waist, Stella maneuvered them both to the edge of her bed and toppled him onto his back. She remained standing between his knees. He was a Ranger, damn it! He outweighed her; how did she manipulate him so easily and keep the upper hand?

Hannibal blamed the bunched clothing around his ankles for his decreased authority.

Agreeably, he let her unlace his boots and remove the offending pants. He tried to sit up as she finished, but a splayed hand on his chest held him down as she licked her way back up his legs until she was crouched between his thighs once more.

He groaned as she hovered over his cock, using just the tip of her tongue to trace the underside. She used the same feather-light torture over the tip, and he could feel that her lips were widened into a smile. He tried not to shift his hips to drive himself back into her inviting mouth, but as she used her shoulders to force his thighs apart, it was an involuntary motion and once again a flash of pleasure rocked through him.

This time Hannibal was incapable of words, especially when she used her own hand on his cock and shifted her mouth downward to very gently, very carefully take one of his balls in and rotate her tongue around it.

If he thought he was going to lose it before—

She shocked him out of his impending orgasm by stopping abruptly and standing back up.

He felt weak and for a moment didn't try to move. As he felt more movement from her and his inner thighs became chilly as she stepped slightly away, he caught her with his knees and opened his eyes.

Stella waited until his attention was back on her before lifting her shirt over her head. Her bra was discarded and dropped onto the pile of growing clothing on the floor, then she shed her pants.

"Finally," Hannibal muttered as she climbed up him onto the bed.

"Mm-hmm," she answered.

Her fingers, like always, traced the spider's web of scars that crossed his chest. He, in return, cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples like she enjoyed; he smiled as she arched her back and cried out a little with the squeeze. He kept one in hand and urged her further up his body to take the other in his mouth.

As his teeth caught the hardened nipple, Stella cried out again and pressed harder onto him.

His free hand found her waist, and then pushed between the two of them to between her legs. He smiled around his mouthful of tit; even though he hadn't done anything, really, to her up till now, she was hot and wet and he aimed to make good on his self-imposed promise to make this one of the best goddamn nights she'd ever had—

Between her moans, once she felt his fingers slip into her pussy, Stella pulled back. The surprised, wounded expression on Hannibal's face made her kiss him, hard. He accepted the kiss and his tongue met hers, but he still looked hurt when she stopped for breath.

"What can I do for you?" he insisted. "Is something wrong? Stella—"

"I'm wondering what more I can do for you," she replied, looking thoughtful and ignoring the new groan of dismay from the man below her.

"Nothing! You've done everything, and I—" Hannibal realized that his voice was pleading and that wasn't him at all, he never begged. This was what she reduced him to. "I wanted this to be for you—"

He gripped her waist and lifted her a little, to encourage her to move off him. It wouldn't be difficult to force her off, but he hoped just a little nudging would be enough. Stella considered what he'd said.

She raised her hips with his assistance but slipped a hand between them just as he'd done earlier.

"If that's how you feel," she said in a low, seductive tone, as she took his cock into her palm and angled it; Hannibal's jaw tightened at what was next, but he didn't seem to have the willpower to stop it, "I suppose you won't like this either."

She guided the head of his cock to her pussy, and with a hissing moan, pushed down steadily until he was buried deep in her heat.

"_Uh—_" he grunted, tipping his head back into the mattress.

Stella leaned forward on his chest again while clenching down on his cock to prevent them from being separated and put her mouth on the pointed scar next to his nipple (another memento from a time she'd help clean and bandage a wound). She nipped both the thickened tissue as well as the more sensitive flesh and he bucked underneath her.

So that was how he ended up being fucked instead of fucking, and he was too powerless against her to even slow her down, let alone make her _stop_. Hannibal didn't worry she wasn't enjoying it—he was familiar enough with the delicious sounds she made to know she was getting as much pleasure from this as he was—but he wasn't far enough gone to overlook the fact that he could still be doing more for her.

Even with closed eyes he licked his own thumb and glided it between them, using the momentary seconds when she was up and not pressed against his pelvic bone to find her clit and apply a steady pressure to it.

Her responding faltering gasp made him open his eyes and watch her.

With the additional sensation against her most sensitive spot, Stella rocked with even more force and insistence against him. Her cries became interspersed with little utterances of, "Oh fuck oh fuck oh John—"

Hannibal clenched his jaw again, willing himself to ignore the peaking feeling that was spreading from his balls to his gut. He wanted her to climax, damn it—

He braced his knees against the edge of the mattress and tightened his abdomen as if doing a crunch, settling his hips down just an inch or so. Keeping the core of his body stiff, he lifted his shoulders off the bed. It forced her into a pocket which didn't give her much room to thrust against him, but it drove his pelvis against her more firmly, trapping his thumb between them.

Stella tried to arch her back but he didn't let her, holding her in place as he felt her muscles clench and release his cock. In just a moment she cried out wordlessly, her fingernails digging into his chest. It hurt, but it gave him something else to concentrate on besides his own inevitable release.

Much sooner than he thought she should be able to, she opened her eyes and returned the smile he gave her. He opened his mouth to say—

She didn't let him say anything. She leaned forward again and kissed his open mouth, sucking his lower lip between her teeth as she began rocking on his cock again. He'd let the tension go after she came, so the movement was once again easy and the pleasant heaviness of impending orgasm rose through his torso again. This time he let it have free-rein, and she didn't torture him as she had twice already tonight by stopping just at the apex of the climb.

It wasn't much longer before he caught his own breath and let it out in a trembling gasp; he threw his head back while he came, holding her tightly by the waist as he emptied himself deep inside her.

Stella let him be until his heavy shudders finished, then she threw her leg over him and relaxed beside him. Once again her fingers traced the multiple scars over his torso. He shifted his arm so it was more comfortable under her neck.

"Thanks," she told him.

That wasn't an adequate enough word to use, Hannibal thought to himself. I don't have a word to convey what that was—

"You done?" he asked aloud, making sure there was enough kidding in his voice that she wouldn't take his query the wrong way.

She lifted her head and looked a question at him.

"Because I'm not. I still have a whole host of things I mean to get done with you tonight—"

Maybe he didn't have the words to tell her how to thank her, but he could use his mouth in other ways to express it. Stella laughed out loud as he pushed her back to the bed and began his own trail down her body, until he settled between her thighs. She returned his characteristic grin with her own, and pushed her fingers in his hair as he dropped his mouth to her pussy.

* * *

><p>"Oh my god—I thought they was done!" B.A. groaned in a whisper. "I blame you, Peck!"<p>

"_Me?"_ the conman answered from the other side of the pull-out sofa bed. "You didn't go upstairs and check out the layout of the house either! How was I supposed to know her bedroom was right above this one?"

B.A. grunted something else that was less coherent, and then complained, "Murdock's prob'ly sleepin' like a baby. We shoulda taken some of his sedatives!"

"You're welcome to go upstairs and get some now!"

"No way, man!"

Face rubbed his hands over his face, hard, and began feeling that plugging his ears wouldn't look so silly any more. "This is agony!"

"Told you. Just like hearing parents."

"Oh jesus Christ—" Face blew his breath out forcefully and tried a different spin. "You have to admire the old man, though. He's got stamina."

"Don't try analyzin' it, fool! Just pretend it ain't happenin' and that you don't know 'em, and get some sleep. It's the only way you'll be able to look Hannibal in the eye tomorrow morning!"

Face hadn't thought of that. "Oh. Shit."

Eventually both men grit their teeth and willed themselves to not hear any more from the bedroom over their heads.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: still no recognizable characters are mine. Sad, really.

* * *

><p>It was too bright the next morning, until Hannibal remembered he wasn't in an underground bunker, or a hotel room with the curtains pulled tight to keep people from seeing inside. He stretched slightly, and the woman beside him stirred.<p>

"Morning," he murmured.

"Hey," she replied, and slipped a hand under his on the sheet. "Do you think they finally decided whether or not to stand watch?"

There had been discussion previously to the merits of keeping someone awake, in case the Feds attempted an unexpected raid.

"Don't know," he answered with a shrug that added he didn't care either. "I didn't hear anything that sounded like a shift change or anything."

Stella nodded.

"I think I did hear Murdock get up earlier, and there's music playing downstairs. He's probably hijacked your kitchen, so you may want to think about getting down there before he decides that potato chips and bug spray are the best way to spice up pancakes."

She slapped his chest playfully. "Me? Why don't you go down there and save breakfast?"

"I don't mind Murdock's potato chip pancakes," he replied, and smiled at her laugh.

Instead of putting her hand back under his again, she pushed her fingers through his hair above his ear and ran her thumb over the skin near his eye, smoothing out the wrinkles there.

"You're not going to stay very long, are you?" she asked bluntly.

She was direct, and deserved a frank answer. "No. It's too risky for us to stick around. You know how I feel about your involvement in all this—"

"I know, John."

"—and the idea that it'll come back to bite you makes me nauseous. That's how you were feeling yesterday too, weren't you? When we were all climbing up into your living room, and you realized how dicey the whole situation is."

She shook her head. "No. No! I wasn't crying because of that! I was just being a weepy woman. I was glad that it worked. I was glad that you were all safe."

Hannibal was above average at detecting lies, but couldn't find much of one in her explanation. He nodded and she shifted on the bed so that her back was against him. As he slipped his arm over her waist, she held it there.

"Stay one day," she half asked, half ordered. "Just one day. I want to get your opinion on the handguns I put down there, and any other upgrades that would be helpful. I don't know when I'll see you again, and I've only just met your men after hearing you talk about them forever.

"Please?"

He wanted to argue that he wasn't planning on ever—_ever_—using her panic room as a safe haven again. He wanted to argue that the less she knew about the individual members of the team the better, so that information couldn't be forced out of her. Against his better judgment, however, it was her please that did it.

"With those three, you'll _kick_ us out of your house after one day," he predicted.

Stella smiled without turning over and settled closer for a few more minutes.

* * *

><p>When they finally made their way downstairs, they were met with good mornings, coffee, and an enthusiastic hug for Stella from Murdock. He escorted her to a chair and doted on her, piling various breakfast foods on the table for her and mock slapping B.A.'s hand away when he dared reach for the bacon.<p>

"And here I was told you were the ladies' man of the group, Templeton," she said to Face as she took an obsequiously offered cup of coffee.

He flashed a grin over the top of his. "I'm sitting back and learning all sorts of new techniques," he replied, tipping his head to first Murdock and Hannibal. "Make sure the lady isn't hungry, and play up real and imagined injuries for all they're worth."

Stella laughed. "Timeless classics. I don't recommend the background music, however."

"Murdock found your stereo," B.A. grunted. "Somehow he found Dr. Demento. Sorry."

"Dr. Demento is only on for a couple of hours on Sunday mornings," Murdock called from the stove. "As former soldiers with advanced combat training, I'm sure you can handle a little hilarity in song form."

"Christ. It's psychological warfare. I think I'd rather have the Celtic-punk," Hannibal muttered half under his breath, but no one forced their pilot to change the radio station.

It was interesting to watch Hannibal's interaction with Stella throughout the day. Face made a conscious effort not to give full-rein to his own charming ways—that was hard! It was habit!—and wondered in the end if he could have seduced her anyway.

It was plain to see that the two had had a long, comfortable relationship: from the way Stella leaned against Hannibal and easily slipped a hand into his back pocket as they stood together, to the way Hannibal finished her sentences—twice!—and made her eyes light up with an inside joke. It would have been almost saccharine and stomach-churning if it wasn't so genuine. And if it wasn't something so out of character for their hard-thinking, hard-hitting bossman.

Even if Face checked his natural inclinations, Murdock didn't. His mania knew no bounds as he told Stella he adored her, idolized her, and that anything within his power (which were many, if the kryptonite wasn't holding them at bay) was hers; she only need ask.

B.A. acted a little reserved, until Murdock weaseled out of him that he was timid around strong women who reminded him of his mother. Even as he admitted it, he knew he was in for a lifetime of teasing, but to his surprise, Murdock only nodded in lucid understanding and let him be.

The black man seemed to warm up, though, when Stella was directed to him for information regarding a few of the handguns she'd purchased. She knew the basics, and the two went over more advanced handling techniques, as well as which were the easiest to hide and which had too much kick for a woman.

He complimented the security cameras and worked up the nerve to admit he'd never seen any that had a back-up system that hers did. She read between the lines of his statement.

"John installed the original cameras in the house," she told him. "Once my bunker was built, I hired a . . . independent techie to make some adjustments."

"Independent. Which means a hacker."

"Something like that," Stella conceded. "I wanted something unnoticeable, because I know people try to take the visible cameras off-line a lot. Here, look."

She took him to the camera over the fireplace. "Regular camera, right? But coming off the power outlet, internally, is another cord that runs up and—"

Indicating a very small, almost unnoticeable pinhole directly above the camera, she waited until he asked to get a chair from the kitchen so he could inspect it more closely. The commotion had everyone joining them and examining it too.

"You see it?"

B.A. ran his fingertips over the wall. "It's flush." He thought for a moment, and then from atop the chair he looked down at her and asked, "Fiber optics?"

Stella nodded. "That's it. That's what I got with the parameters I insisted on."

"And it doesn't kick on until power is interrupted from the camera below it."

"Right. Some kind of relay switch. I'm not really too good with the technical stuff; I'm just glad it works."

B.A., still looking thoughtful, stepped down. Hannibal climbed the chair to inspect it, then Murdock.

"I have never seen anything like that," B.A. repeated. "That fiber optic is the smallest camera I've ever even heard of. What about the audio? That didn't cut out when the original camera was unplugged, and fiber optics can't support audio."

"Another microphone was installed in the wall as well, behind the outlet. Just another backup."

The black man continued to be deep in thought. He closed his eyes and muttered to himself, "If it could be attached to a portable power source, a miniature camera—"

"Could be attached to glasses or a hat or a tie tack!" Murdock exclaimed, jumping in on his train of thought. As bouncy and annoying as he could get, the pilot always caught on to things _fast._ "Bosco—you've gotta get us some of these! They're awesome! We could use them, they'd be so helpful—"

"—but a microphone. What about the mike?" he went on, ignoring the man still on the chair who was trying to catch his attention. "Maybe just a different source . . ."

Hannibal ignored both of them. "Where did you find someone to do this?"

"I may not have all the contacts you do, John, but I still know some people."

When he didn't respond to that cryptic remark, Stella turned away from him and said to B.A.,

"I have a business card around here somewhere. You can have it."

"A hacker has a business card?" Hannibal asked skeptically.

"How else are they going to get work?" Murdock asked in return. "Only other hackers would know them, and hackers don't need help from other hackers. Social networking is the only way to go, Boss. We need to get something going on Facebook. It'd help us with contacts and job offers. Maybe Craigslist—"

"No!" Both Hannibal and Face said together, in exasperation. This was an argument he'd tried before.

Their combined order effectively stopped his monologue and he climbed off the chair, chagrined, although he immediately began pestering B.A. again.

"What kind of people are you dealing with?" Hannibal asked Stella.

"Oh, you mean besides the armed and dangerous federal fugitives I'm entertaining in my house right now?" she replied, with a slight smile.

Hannibal didn't seem impressed.

"John, it's fine. I promise! You know I wouldn't intentionally do something or hire someone who could be problematic in the future. And you know I would call you at the drop of a hat if there was trouble—"

"Sometimes there's no chance to call," he interrupted brusquely, and left the room.

The room went silent and awkward.

Stella shook herself and sighed. She faced the men in front of her; each of them looked like he should say something, but didn't quite know what exactly it should be.

"It's okay. He gets like that, sometimes," she told them quietly. "Right before he leaves—"

She gave another shake and hugged herself. Both Murdock and Face were immediately beside her, and B.A. took an awkward step closer too. Murdock made to hug her, and although she didn't uncross her arms she allowed him.

"Thanks," she told him, then left the three of them in the living room to wander after Hannibal.

* * *

><p>Dinner was more subdued than the previous night. The former Colonel had made the decision that they would leave after dark, once he was assured she had no motion-activated security lights that may give away their presence. Face and Murdock insisted on taking care of clearing the table, to give Stella and Hannibal a bit more time alone. B.A., not able to get in on the dish cleaning racket, was left to his own devices. He decided packing up everyone's bag was a good way to steer clear and avoid the awkwardness.<p>

At last, when everything was packed and cleaned and it was sufficiently dark, Hannibal gave the order to leave. Stella had turned out the lights in the house, with the exception of her bedroom table lamp, to give the illusion of going to bed.

As they tried to say their good-byes, however, she told them,

"I have to at least go to the garage with you—"

"What? No," Hannibal interrupted.

"Someone has to open and close the garage door," she insisted.

He relented.

So in the garage, still in the dark, the men continued their farewells. B.A. accepted her hug with much more warmth and patted his front pocket to make sure the business card she'd given him was secure. Face didn't hold back his natural charm and gave her a solid kiss on the mouth, which sent her into giggles, and a breathless,

"Templeton!"

She could almost make out his radiant smile as he climbed into the van.

Murdock channeled some of B.A.'s earlier apprehension now that they were leaving, and shifted back and forth on his feet even as he stood in front of her.

"Thanks, Stella. You're the best," he told her sincerely.

She moved to hug him too, which he accepted; as he stepped back he thrust something small and pointy in her hand.

"I made you a stork. I hope you didn't need those twist-ties."

Stella knew her smile was as hard to see in the dark as his teammate's, but she was sure he knew it was there.

Hannibal was last, of course. She didn't want to drag it out, but standing next to him, with arms around each other was comfortable and secure. Tipping her head, she planted a kiss on the pulse point of his neck, and was rewarded with a sound deep in his throat.

"John Hannibal Smith, you take care of yourself," she said, as he knew she would.

"I'll write," he answered with a nod. It was ritualistic, but important.

"I'll write—" Murdock began to say, out the sliding door of the van. He cut himself off with a yelp as both Face and B.A. grabbed him.

Hannibal kissed her, and she was breathless once more. "I'll see you again."

"You'd better!"

With a final squeeze, he turned to walk to the passenger door. She kept hold of his hand until he was arm's length away, then let hers drop.

Once he was settled and B.A. turned the engine over, Stella opened the garage door. The van very slowly backed passed her with no lights on.

"I'll write too!" Murdock told her again in a stage whisper through the window vent. "Christmas cards and stuff."

She gave him another smile she wasn't positive he saw, and tapped the glass of Hannibal's window as the van continued passed. He gave her a nod and a tight smile, then the vehicle was out of the garage and she pulled the door shut immediately as he had instructed. She heard the wheels turn on the asphalt of the road. Within another few moments, the sound of the van was gone.

_fin._

* * *

><p>notes for background flavor:<p>

The **Celtic-inspired punk music** includes songs by Flogging Molly (_The Devil's Dance Floor, (No More) Paddy's Lament_), the Dropkick Murphys (_Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced_-which I think would be a good theme song for Face all around-and _Famous for Nothing_), the Hollow Points (_Pieces of Eight_), and the Street Dogs (_Tobe's Got A Drinking Problem_). Most of the songs can be found on youtube if you would like a listen.

**Red Hands** is a reflexed-based hand slapping game which, in my family at least, devolves into trying to smack the other person's hand as hard as possible until it really, really hurts. I didn't know it even had a name until this fic. Thanks, wikipedia!

Murdock's line in chapter one, **"Quick, gophers! In the hole!"** is a direct quote from a Three Stooges short. Many many kudos-maybe even a prize!-to anyone who can give the title of that short.

And of course, a huge** THANK YOU** for reading. Many, multiple, copious, heaps, numberless thanks to WriterMonkey0626, silverwolfneko-chan, mistofan, AutumnOlivia, rawriloveyou, Belker, callietitan, lemonbalm, Michelle, sorcerergirl 90, and TheFastTalker. All you make my days, weeks, months! I hope you enjoyed it!

yours,

Hoodoo


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